酷兔英语

章节正文
文章总共2页
sides of these high sheer craigs. Here the mother guillemot lays



her single egg, and here, on these narrow shelves of precipitous

rock, she holds it in place with her foot until the warmth of her



leg and overhanging body hatches it into life, when she takes it on

her back and flies down to the sea. Motherhood under difficulties,



it would seem, and the education of the baby guillemot is carried

forward on Spartan principles; for the moment he is out of the shell



he is swept downward hundreds of feet and plunged into a cold ocean,

where he can sink or swim as instinct serves him. In a life so



fraught with anxieties, exposures, and dangers, it is not strange

that the guillemots keeps up a ceaseless clang of excited



conversation, a very riot and wrangle of altercation and argument

which the circumstances seem to warrant. The prospective father is



obliged to take turns with the prospective mother, and hold the one

precious egg on the rock while she goes for a fly, a swim, a bite,



and a sup. As there are five hundred other parents on the same

rock, and the eggs look to be only a couple of inches apart, the



scene must be distracting, and I have no doubt we should find, if

statistics were gathered, that thousands of guillemots die of



nervous prostration.

Willie and I interpreted the clamour somewhat as follows:-



[Between parent birds.]

"I am going to take my foot off. Are you ready to put yours on?



Don't be clumsy! Wait a minute, I'm not ready. I'M NOT READY, I

TELL YOU! NOW!!"



[Between rival mothers.]

"Your egg is so close to mine that I can't breathe---"



"Move your egg, then, I can't move mine!"

"You're sitting so close, I can't stretch my wings."



"Neither can I. You've got as much room as I have."

"I shall tumble if you crowd me."



"Go ahead and tumble, then! There is plenty of room in the sea."

[From one father to another ceremoniously.]



"Pardon me, but I'm afraid I shoved your wife off the rock last

night."



"Don't mention it. I remember I shoved off your wife's mother last

year."



We walked among the tiny whitewashed low-roofed cots, each with its

silver-skinned fishes tacked invitingly against the door-frame to



dry, until we came to my favourite, the corner cottage in the row.

It has beautiful narrow garden strips in front,--solid patches of



colour in sweet gillyflower bushes, from which the kindly housewife

plucked a nosegay for us. Her white columbines she calls `granny's



mutches'; and indeed they are not unlike those fresh white caps.

Dear Robbie Burns, ten inches high in plaster, stands in the sunny



window in a tiny box of blossoming plants surrounded by a miniature

green picket fence. Outside, looming white among the gillyflowers,



is Sir Walter, and near him is still another and a larger bust on a

cracked pedestal a foot high, perhaps. We did not recognise the



head at once, and asked the little woman who it was.

"Homer, the graund Greek poet," she answered cheerily; "an' I'm to



have anither o' Burns, as tall as Homer, when my daughter comes hame

frae E'nbro'."



If the shade of Homer keeps account of his earthly triumphs, I think

he is proud of his place in that humble Scotchwoman's gillyflower



garden, with his head under the drooping petals of granny's white

mutches.



What do you think her `mon' is called in the village! John o' Mary!

But he is not alone in his meekness, for there are Jock o' Meg,



Willie o' Janet, Jem o' Tibby, and a dozen others. These primitive

fishing-villages are the places where all the advanced women ought



to congregate, for the wife is head of the house; the accountant,

the treasurer, the auditor, the chancellor of the exchequer; and



though her husband does catch the fish for her to sell, that is

accounted apparently as a detail too trivial for notice.



When we passed Mary's cottage on our way to the sands next day,

Burns's head had been accidentally broken off by the children, and



we felt as though we had lost a friend; but Scotch thrift, and

loyalty to the dear Ploughman Poet, came to the rescue, and when we



returned, Robert's plaster head had been glued to his body. He




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文